Ballad of Dell Jennings
by aurorald929
Summary: Dell Jennings was separated from the Van der Linde gang during the Blackwater fiasco. Though she escaped, Dell finds herself in another dilemma; she is lost and alone without any clue where the gang is. Explore of the origins, tales, and journey of Dell Jennings as she searches for the gang and her transition to adulthood and coming to terms with a forgotten past. (OC x Various)
1. She is no longer Pt1

One misstep.

The tiniest error would unravel her plans, forever sealing her fate once the train reached Utica. She couldn't waste another moment, pondering the ramifications of her decision.

She needed to leave. Now.

Scrunching the worn leather of her satchel strap into a tense ball, she proceeds down the few metal steps, carefully placing her feet onto the cemented floor of the station. Exhaling a ragged breath, she took in the sight of the Creedstad Station. The railroad junction was bustling; travelers swarming the outdoor platforms, climbing in and out of the plethora of stilled locomotives. Some teary-eyed while embracing relatives, some carrying heavy luggage as they boarded their designated car, while others sat patiently on the shaded wooden benches, glancing often up at the station's huge clock to judge the arrival of their own train.

Usually, this liveliness of a train station is seen in a big city, not a rural town, but Creedstad was the expectation. The railroad is connected to two cities, depending on direction, with Shawnee to the North and Wichita to the South. Many traveling folks used the quiet lakeside community as a rest stop before taking the long journey to one of the forming metropolitans.

"Move it, kid!" She let out a surprised yelp as a hand shoved her in the center of the back, causing her to stumble forwards. Grasping on the rail of a nearby bench to prevent her from falling face-first into the pavement, she swiftly whipped her head around, fury practically dripping from the tip of her tongue.

But she paused.

She was nobody now. When stepping off that wrecked train, she forfeited her status.

She was no one. Her name, which weighed as much as gold, is still on the train.

For once in her life, she was voiceless.

She never contended to the scowling crewmen who shoved her aside to make a straight path for a well-dressed couple and their entourage of children and servants, exiting the same train.

She just glared at the backs of the well-to-do family and the crewmen, mentally spitting out insults like an enraged rattler. Grabbing the rim of her ill-fitting derby, she stood properly on her feet and brushed off invisible dust particles from her too-loose pants, the waistband slipping lower and lower with every swipe of her hand. I need to find a tailor. She thought with a grimace, tugging the lax fabric over her hips as she watched the wretched train shriek its disembark.

When the train vanished beyond the horizontal line when the emotions truly strike her. She maintained to steady herself, once again, white-knuckling the back of an empty bench. A woman reading on the opposite bench glanced up from her book and spare a curious frown at the lithe child in the billowing shirt and baggy trousers, before quickly returning to the novel in her lap. Normally, she would be utterly horrified by her behavior, nearly crumpled to the polished floor like a ragdoll.

But she couldn't fret on frivolous things. She needed to leave Creedstad immediately.

Although no one knows that she was gone, especially her "guide", an acquaintance of Odette, who never paid any interest in her, only the endless supply of gin stored in his carry-on. He would remain drunk and snoring until the train arrives at Shawnee.

And by the time, her disappearance is reported to the Sheriff, Odette, and her family. She would be long gone.

She smiled, it's been a long time since such a pleasant expression sat upon her face.

Nighttime approached when she finally put the second element of her plan in motion. Standing in a darkened alleyway, she silently studied the saloon across the way. The saloon pulsed with life, music and loud laughter streaming out the dimly lit windows, filling the otherwise tranquil night with sound. She glanced both ways down the long dirt-paved road, Creedstad called 'Main Street'; no sight of a strolling townsperson or a patrolman.

Perfect.

She crept forward towards her mark; Her target, being the saloon's hitching post.

Carefully slinked towards the line of horses, tied and patiently waiting for their rider's return, she continued down the line of beasts, towards the horse that piqued her interest, a dark brown Turkoman.

She first noticed the Bronco while scoping the establishment and overheard a loud laugh when the Turkoman's rider, a weathered-looking man with slightly dirty clothes, jumped off the saddle alongside his friend who was equally as unkempt. By the way, the two men stumble up the few steps of the saloon, they were already lush. Probably got throw out of the other saloon that sat on the outskirts of Creedstad and came to continue whatever excitement they experienced at the other bar.

Walking up to the hitching post, she grabbed ahold of the Turkoman's reins and began loosing the knot tethering the battered leather to the wooden post. She let out wordlessly cheer when the knot came undone but immediately tensed up as the Turkoman let out a whinny, loud enough to echo down the deserted road. Thankfully, the rowdy noise of the saloon deafened any chance of a patron hearing and investigating the random outburst of the mare.

The tension drained slowly from her body when realizing that no one noticed the loudness of the mare, protesting against being stolen. She turned around, shushing the vigilant mare with a "Quiet, girl," as she reached into her satchel, presenting a sugar cube to the Turkoman.

The pretty mare seemingly studied the gift in the young girl's hand, then leaned forward and accepted it with some hesitation. She smiled gleefully, her Granddaddy would always quietly remarks how easily horses trusted her when she would sneak off to the stables when he silently saunters in, while she would brush her Father's gifted stallions.

"Ya got one of the greatest gifts of the West" Her Granddaddy would murmur, rarely speaking louder than a whisper, which often forces folks to use their fullest audible ability to hear the elder man 's mutterings. Knowing that her time in Creedstad just about up, she led the equine away from the saloon and promptly out of town, the two didn't stop until Creedstad's lights were a bright blur in the distance and the dirt road became a narrow pathway through the tall grass.

"I did it," She whispered into the summer night, watching the outline of the sleeping town, she heard a soft huff behind her. Letting out a soft laugh, she reached out to pet the snort of the mare "We did it, I guess." Then the realization hit her "I didn't give you a name, pretty lady! How rude of me." She only ponders for a moment before a wide grin appeared upon her face "I'll call you Jolie! It means "pretty" in French, do you like it?" The filly neigh in approval.

"Well, then it's settled! Jolie and…" Her voice drifted off into the summer night breeze, what should she call herself?

"Jolie and...Dell," She mouthed the name over her tongue a few times like tasting a new kind of candy, "That's right, my name is Dell."

That night on the outskirts of Creedstad marked the birth of Dell Jennings.

**I hope you enjoy this! This is part 1 of the prologue. Let me know if there is any grammar or punctuation errors, please let me know, or how you are liking the story overall.**

**Thank you and stay tuned for more~**


	2. Dell Jennings, Horse Thief Pt2

p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Horse thievery became Dell's main staple. She had a natural talent for horses, the Broncos were calmer and trusting in the presence of the young girl. Because of this ability, Dell becomes an expert in luring even the most headstrong horses from the hitching posts of local saloons without alerting the riders or patrons of the crime. Then afterward she sold the fillies to Mr. Larson, the dubious owner of the neighboring town's stables, who never batted an eye when Dell always rode in on the horse she planned to sell him./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"She knew stealing horses was the equivalent to murder, especially out in the West, where equines was a person's livelihood. Guilt would probably eat at her if her intended targets weren't well-to-do businessmen whose pockets could afford another pony./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"The money Dell stole from her "guide" was dwindling fast, she spent a large amount when visiting the Creedstad general store, prior to the theft of Jolie, for supplies after an appointment with the sneering tailor to fit the clothes stolen from the unguarded suitcase of a male train passenger. She was in dire need for a big score and soon, her tinned ration supply receding at an alerting rate./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;""Ya wanna make serious bank?" Mr. Larson asks one foggy morning, leaning against the wooden gate of the stall as Dell brushed the slightly tangled mane of a Dutch Warmblood. Sometimes Dell worked at the stables when she needed to lay low until the law of a neighboring town stop sniffing around for a horse thief to string /"What do you mean, sir?" She knew to be wary about any job suggestion the stable owner gave her. Mr. Larson, a hefty Midwestern man with a thinning scalp of caramel hair, steely-eyed, with a bear-like rumble of a voice, is a notorious swindler who uses down-on-their-luck schmucks to do his dirty work and then, is not afraid to finger them for the /"Ya know, a gig, one that could fill up ya pockets handsomely," Though facing away from the man, she could tell the stable owner was becoming slightly annoyed by Dell's oblivious attitude, the man had a rigid no-bullshit /"Oh! What is it then?" Dell always enjoys playing the role of a fool, everyone underestimates her cleverness because of her age and impoverished appearance. And never fail to be flabbergasted when realizing they have been hoodwinked, cursing the young thief's name in the wind as she rides into the next town with a heavier satchel and a sly grin plastered on her /"I'm glad you asked, Mr. Jennings," Mr. Larson said in a sing-song voice that made Dell suppress a cringe at the Mr. It became apparent early for Dell, many people believed she was a boy. A belief only made truer by her lanky shapeless figure that swam in dark billowing shirts, often hung off her narrow shoulders, despite it buttoned up to her sternum. The cuffs of her oil-ruined pants rested high above her ankle, the ill-fit hem was cinched tightly to her amorphous hips by a well-worn belt. And her hair, pixie-cut mop of auburn locks, often hidden underneath a tan Stetson hat, Dell stole from a drunken man asleep at the bar of the saloon she was scoping out. To everyone else, Dell looked to be a young orphaned boy, too tall and lithe for his clothes and filthy from the backroads the forgotten must survive on. A few months earlier, she definitely had been offended by Mr. Larson's assumption of gender, but now Dell knew it was a blessing, the young thief learn quickly it was better to be a wayward boy in the West, then a wayward /"Ever heard a Hoagy Macintosh?"br /Snapped out of her thoughts, Dell shook her head "No. Who's that?"br /Mr. Larson let out a heavy sigh behind her, grumbling underneath his smoky breath about clueless brats. Ignoring the miffed owner, Dell finished brushing the horse's mare, she admires dark silky hair as the strands seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the stable. The glow of the horse's mane reminded her of a simpler time in her past, she often forced herself to not think upon it, for it was just too painful to recall. As she returns once again to the present, Dell noticed Mr. Larson began explains further "Hoagy Macintosh is a wealthy doctor from New England, comes a long line of well-respected physicians-"br /"What does this have to do with the job?" She turned to the man, irritated. He was beating around the bush, she could tell. Usually, Mr. Larson was very straightforward with his demands and bargaining, so this was unknown for Dell, it terrified /"If ya didn't interrupt, brat, I would have gotten to the goddam' point!" Mr. Larson growled, annoyance flashing on his aged face before returning to the man's regular scowl "Long story short, he's in town and owns me some money from a poker game a few years back."br /Now, was that so hard to say? "Okay. How does this involve me?" Dell responds, watching as another stablehand, whose name Dell could never place, slip past her to grab the reigns of Dutch Warmblood. The stable hand guided the snorting bronco around the two and outside to the fenced-in field for /When Dell glanced back at Mr. Larson, a sense of dread filled her belly as the stable owner grinned wolfly at her, showing off his missing front tooth "I want ya to steal the bastard's horse."/p  
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p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"* * */p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"The sense of dread never left her./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Not even after she delivered the silver Turkoman to the grasp of Mr. Larson, grinning crazily like a man who lost his mind. "Thank ya for ya service, Mr. Jennings!" The man celebrated, clapping Dell in the back with a level of force that would send an unbalanced person to the ground. "...All in a day's work, Mr. Larson" She wheezed out, her lungs heaved from nearly having the air knocked out "So where's my payment?".br /Mr. Larson simply waved her over, telling the young thief to come back in a week and a half, claiming that once the horse is sold, she will be /Irate, Dell stormed out of the stables. She wasn't too pleased about waiting for the couple of weeks to get paid, people typically pay her once the horse is in their possession. Money was already tight of her, food was scarce back at her campsite, there was only a three-days worth of canned goods which mean she is going to go hungry before getting paid by Mr. Larson. She groaned aloud, rubbing a hand across her face, disgusted at the filth that appeared on her glove. Wishing deeply that she had the money to take a nice soak at the town's hotel, guess she could wash up in the river, even though it was running with the melted snow from winter as the season of spring quickly approached. She grimaced at the thought of the frigid water kissing her bare skin, deciding that it was better to wait the week and a half than take her chances with /Dell strolled down the dirt road towards the town of Underwell, a tiny mining town known for its abundance of coal in the surrounding mountainside and its vast criminal underground. Though the town does not seem like a community of thieves, liars, and gunslingers with the freshly-painted houses, clean roads, quiet shops, and kind-looking people. But once the sun slips past the mountains, that when the low-lifes come out./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"The sun hangs high in the clear blue sky, signaling noontime. Dell made her way towards the saloon, she has visited the bar to drink after the death of Jolie but got refused by an older barmaid, scolding the youth "Come back when there's sum hair on ya chest". Jolie, her late mare got bit by a rattlesnake while the two stroll through some tall grass, Dell tried to get the bronco to Mr. Larson get aid. The Midwestern man directed the distraught thief up to his office, distracting the youth with details of his new gramophone as a nameless stable-hand led the stumbling Turkoman behind the stable. Dell appreciates Mr. Larson turning up the gramophone in his office, muting the gunshot underneath the second-floor window./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Dell snapped out of her thoughts when she noticed a flash of white in the corner of her eye, she grinned as she caught sight of her prize from the theft. At the hitching post stood the white Arabian owned by one Hoagy Macintosh. When she went to steal the horse, she became intrigued by the powerful grace of the snow-colored stallion, deciding at the moment to steal the horse for her personal use. To swindle Mr. Larson, she decided to grab the horse next to the stallion, the silver Turkoman that is residing in his stable./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"The young Arabian noticed the young thief's arrival and announced his annoyance, stomping an impatient hoof upon the ground, stirring up puffs of dust. Dell rolled her eyes at the act, the stallion was barely out of his time of being a foal, so she knew the horse was yet to be /"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You hate waiting, boy," Reaching out to stroke the abrasive equine's colorless mane, the stallion relaxed underneath the girl's hand, leaning closer into her palm. Dell smiled softly, untangling her hand from the horse's silky hair, she proceeded to climb onto the stallion, with much difficulty. The equine was unusually tall for an Arabian horse, at least a good hand or two taller than average. And Dell's atypical height didn't help her struggle with climbing on top of the horse, luckily the Arabian stay still as the girl managed to swing her leg over the stallion's wide back, securing her boot in the other /"Come on, boy, let's go," She said, pulling the stallion into a trot down the main road as they entered the outskirts of Underwell./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"* * */p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;""Fucking asshole!" Dell cried /Early in the day, she returned to the Underwell stables a week-and-a-half later, to collect her payment. "I haven't sold the horse yet," Mr. Larson called out from his second-floor office as the young thief entered the stable. Dell blinked for a moment, then her confusion morph to anger "What? You told me that I would be paid in a week and a half. It's been a week and a half! Where's my money?" Her voice bounced off the wood walls of the stable, startling a few of the horses in nearby stalls. Dell knew better than to cause a public scene, but she was too livid by Mr. Larson's deception to care./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Mr. Larson, unfazed by the youth's outburst, clambered down the wood stairs that groaned underneath the weight of the burly man "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Jennings," The man said, tilting his balding head down in mocking guilt, Dell fought the urge to knock out his remaining front tooth as the stable owner approached her. "Ya see, the fella I was intending to sell the Turkoman to, never showed. So I have been scrambling to find a new buyer, unfortunately, I hadn't got much luck" Dell huffed, scrubbing her face with her hand. She was nearly out of money, despite taking on a couple of horse stealing jobs, to provide some food for herself and her new horse. But it still wasn't enough, and now the law slowly closing in on her after a botched theft in a few towns over, she needed to leave town soon with cash in her /"How long you do need?"br /"Another week." Mr. Larson quickly added when Dell shot the owner a dumbfounded expression "An old buddy of mine coming to town, he owns land in Michigan, he'll take the horse off my hands for the same price I gave the other fella." Mr. Larson then stuck out a paw-like hand in front of the conflicted horse thief "Do we have a deal, Mr. Jennings?" Dell stared down at the hand as if she had never seen one before. Knowing this was probably of Mr. Larson's scams to sell her out to the law, in order to keep the cash, and by shaking the man's hand, she might as well sign her death certificate too. But money was scarce, she desperately needs the profits from the Turkoman sale to keep her afloat, at least until she reaches the next /Throwing all caution to the wind, Dell reached out and shook the meaty /"You have a deal, Mr. Larson."/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 0px auto 1.286em; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"strongHi there!/strong/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"strongI wanted to let you guys know that the prologue is actually in three parts because I cannot write anything short and simple ; ). But don't fret, the Van Der Linde gang makes their grand appearance in the next chapter./strong/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"strongI hope you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know if there are any grammar errors. Also, don't be afraid to leave a comment below, constructive criticism is welcomed./strong/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"strongThx,/strong/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto 0px; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"strongR/strong/p 


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